


Blood made Swords

by OmegaWolfy



Series: "Our" Skyrim Verse. [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Original Weapons, Smithing, Swordsmanship, original plot line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 11:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmegaWolfy/pseuds/OmegaWolfy
Summary: In an anthro society shortly after the war, Unmirr takes advantage of the lack of work being done at the forges.





	Blood made Swords

Anthros had long been considered the superior race, so when one came strolling into town, a young limp fawn thrown over his shoulder, hardly anyone batted an eye. Well, except for the ones who had once been the same as the fawn. Unmirr shifted in his heavy clothing, the blacksmith's apron tight around his body and the sleeves rolled all the way down. Thick gloves concealed his paws, while high boots concealed his legs up to the knee. His tail wasn’t even showing, tucked to stay within his pants. His face and head hidden by a heavy helm.

Then, there was the smell. Unmirr had been antsy to get working again, to be working how he really wanted to. He’d had a vision of making a new sword, but Unmirr wouldn’t be allowed near a forge let alone use one if someone knew who he was. Which, leads back to the smell radiating from the majestic sun kissed fur of the Sumatran Tiger. No matter how much fur he covered, a smell is usually easy to recognize.

_ ‘I’ve got to get my own Forgue built. _ ’ He’d say to himself for the upteenth time.

Only Unmirr himself could tell what had caused the smell, he wasn’t about to reveal it, though. His double life was also scandalous enough as it was. Just know it involves the fish hatchery he had built on an impulse, and a boat load of skeever droppings.

This secret identity he’d built up for himself was both respected and avoided. Unmirr - going by the name Sowell - had a small residence in Morthal (where the fish hatchery was), he’d often get letters from couriers for armour or weaponry. So, here he was, with a young deer carcass, in Solitude, going for the forge. The man who worked it was the only one who knew who he really was. The grandson of the emperor had learned to smith under his guidance.

“Sowell,” Beirand greets, understanding in his eyes as the other quietly hangs the deer up by it’s hind leg. Beirand, a respected Imperial bear of a smith, waves a massive paw as the Tiger gets closer. “I know a thing or two about bad smells, but you need to bath, my friend.” He’s chuckling, he knows exactly why Unmirr smells as so, and they both go to work.

His choice of material this time around included some ebony ingots, glass rods, and dragon bones. Strong paws expertly maneuver a crucibulum mounted on a rod to heat the ingots to a melting point. Beirand had figured out a way to create a mold of an imperial sword so he could make more faster during the Civil war, but now was being adopted by Unmirr himself. Mostly for experimental purposes, so he could get a good grasp on what he wanted to accomplish. However, today, he wanted to make something which could never be copied. He wanted his own original blade.

After hours upon hours, the sun was beginning to set. Less and less people were in the market, and Beirand had packed up his own works for the day, the following one would likely be used mostly in the shop. He wished Unmirr -- Sowell -- a good night before retiring himself.

Unmirr eyed his work, the heat of the day making not only him sweat, but also the young deer he’d lugged into town. He didn’t want to use it prematurely, but the sword was nearly done. The dragonbone hilt encased in a heavy layer of glass, the glass was only smooth at the pomme and where the ebony insert of the blade met with the chappe and cross guard. (Although his cross guard wasn’t exactly cross shaped.) The hilt was patterned and somewhat rugged, insuring a good non-slip grip in his hand, even in the gloves. Now that there were mainly guards around, Unmirr removed the gloves, feeling the blade to make sure there weren’t any imperfections.

His favorite feature had to be the swords blade itself. A smooth cut along the top half was similar to that of the edge of a katana. A double edged one at that. The edges were the ebony ingot he adored so, the point would made good for lunge attacks straight on. While swinging either direction could also be fatal.

While Unmirr enjoyed making functional pieces, there was little no challenge in it. This blade was his biggest risk peice yet. Somehow, the fuller, the center of the blade running about 80 percent up the blade, was dragonbone as well. Etched and engraved with a powerful scene, depicting a ruler upon a throne. His disciples going downwards, and then citizens. However, while the top seemed rather regal, the rest had grown graphic and brutal. Unmirr only had one bone carved, he’d bought it from a young wolf who had some carvings - someone he knew well, but someone he couldn’t allow others to know he had known.

Agmntus Shade had been offered to begin working at the college of Winterhold. The mage, however, was more interested in his carving. Unmirr could understand, and he’d commissioned this bone for the exact reason. It was nearly midnight when he’d been able to get glass to cover and protect the bone fuller. Satisfied and growing tired, Unmirr put the blade to the grindstone, and soon, the entire blade was sharpened to perfection. 

Standing from the stone was more of a feat then the smith would ever admit. He lifts the blade to inspect it in the light of the forgue, and turns to the still hanging fawn. Raising the weapon, Unmirr strikes and lunges forward. The tip of the blade impaling the belly of the fawn, gasses which had been building up all day were expelled along with some flies. Glad for his helm, Unmirr backs off and slices the blade nearly clean through the carcass. Holding back a gag, Unmirr pulls a cloth from his apron, cleaning the foul liquids and partly solid material from the blade.

“Mighty fine blade there, Sowell.” A guard stops on his way back to the main courtyard. “But I hope you plan on cleaning up that mess.” The horse is holding his snout, before carrying on. Pulling his gloves back on, Unmirr does just that. He disposes of the carcass outside of town and heads to his humble home across the river in Morthal.

Once alone, Unmirr shrugged out of his blacksmithing garb. At least swimming through the river had somewhat cleaned him off. At least now his blade was complete. The next day - not the one quickly approaching - he had to meet with the members of the Penitus Oculatus, along with Astrid. She apparently had information of an upcoming assassination. The assassination she had assigned to him.

Too bad she didn’t know he was loyal to much more than the brotherhood.

**Author's Note:**

> YES. I'M A FUCKIN' FURRY.  
> ovo  
> Felt like making my ocs anthro instead of writing them as they actually are. WOOPS.  
> Also on Furry Amino.


End file.
